Work Text
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The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.
A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.
You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.
Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.
The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—
A flash of red and blue swings past the window.
You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—
"Noona!"
—of course he doesn't.
There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.
"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.
"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"
"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."
"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"
You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"
"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"
"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."
He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—
No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.
"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."
You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"
"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"
"That's not how spider-sense works."
"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"
A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."
"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"
"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"
"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."
You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"
"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."
You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...
No. Stop it. You're not doing this.
"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."
He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.
You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.
But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.
You really need to stop noticing these things.
You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.
And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.
It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.
Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"
"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.
You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"
"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."
You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."
There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.
"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"
Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.
"You didn't spit in them, did you?"
"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"
You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.
"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"
His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.
"Okay. Yeah, sure."
You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.
He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.
"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."
You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."
"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.
You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.
It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.
He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.
Your hand freezes midair.
His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.
You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.
The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.
He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.
"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."
You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"
"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."
If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.
"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."
"Exactly."
He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.
Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—
"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."
You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."
"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"
And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.
You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.
Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.
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"I'm such a fucking idiot."
Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.
Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."
Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."
Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."
Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"
Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."
"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"
Jimin gives him a look.
Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."
Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"
"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."
"But that was BEFORE—"
"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."
Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"
"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"
"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.
"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.
Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."
"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."
"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.
"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."
Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.
"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."
Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"
Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.
"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.
The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.
Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.
"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.
Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.
Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.
But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.
"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"
"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.
Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"
"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.
Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.
"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."
Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.
"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.
"Wait, why do I have to—"
"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.
Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.
"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.
"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.
"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.
"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.
"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"
"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.
"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."
Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."
Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.
"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.
"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."
Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.
"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."
"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."
"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"
Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.
"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"
"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"
"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."
Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."
"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."
"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"
Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."
"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"
Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."
"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.
"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.
Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.
"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."
Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."
"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.
Jungkook screams into the pillow.
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You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.
But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.
"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"
You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"
Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"
For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.
Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.
But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?
And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?
You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.
Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.
"Noona!"
You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.
He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.
"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.
Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.
Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"
Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"
The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?
You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.
The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.
"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.
You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?
God, this kid.
"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.
"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"
You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.
"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.
Still, you say nothing.
"Coffee?"
Nope.
"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"
That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"
His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.
For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.
"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"
Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"
"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"
"Jungkook."
He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"
"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"
Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.
"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"
"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.
"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"
The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.
"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"
You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.
Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"
You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.
Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.
You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.
"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"
You don't answer.
"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"
"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.
"Yeah?"
"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.
He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"
"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.
"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.
You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.
So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.
And then—
The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.
Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.
Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"
He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.
"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.
You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.
He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—
"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"
"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"
You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."
Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"
He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.
And that's when it hits you.
Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.
No fucking way.
･ﾟ✧ 🕷️ ━━━━━━━━ ✧･ﾟ
"I'm leaving."
"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.
Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."
Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"
"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.
"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.
Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."
"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.
You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.
And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.
"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.
"I'm not!"
"You are."
"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"
"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.
Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"
Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.
"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."
Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.
He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.
"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.
"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.
Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."
Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.
So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.
He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.
Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.
Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.
He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.
"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"
"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.
Advanced Theoretical Physics.
Oh.
"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.
Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."
Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."
Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.
Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—
You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.
"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"
Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"
But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.
Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"
Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.
You're not heading to the exit.
You're not even walking toward the bathroom.
He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.
Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.
And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.
Totally not unhinged.
But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.
He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.
And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—
Yank.
Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."
Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?
"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.
"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."
"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"
Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.
"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.
You don't look convinced. Not one bit.
Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.
But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.
And he's so screwed. So screwed.
"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.
"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"
"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."
Oh.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—
He'd used his webs.
On you.
In broad daylight.
As Jungkook.
Not Spider-Man.
Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.
"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"
"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"
"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.
Your eyes narrow further. "Really."
"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."
"You're not a chemistry major."
"I could be!"
"You're in communications."
"...Minor in chemistry?"
You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?
"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"
"I... ran really fast?"
"You were five meters away."
"I'm... very athletic?"
"Five meters, Jungkook."
He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"
The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."
"Yoga?"
"Jungkook."
"Pilates?"
You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."
And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—
"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."
Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"
"I—"
Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.
"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.
"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.
And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:
1. Someone's locked you two in.
2. The closet is tiny.
3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.
4. Your ass is—
Oh god.
Oh god.
This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.
"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.
His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.
"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"
Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—
You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.
"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"
Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—
"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."
"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"
You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"
"Since... right now?"
Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.
Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—
"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.
Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.
All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.
"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.
"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."
You snort. "For pushing a door?"
"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?
Yeah, no. He'd rather die.
Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.
His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.
Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.
You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"
Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.
But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.
Oh no.
You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.
"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.
His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.
"Are you hard?"
Oh, fuck.
Oh FUCK.
His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.
"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.
You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.
"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?
"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.
You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.
He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.
"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"
You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.
"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"
"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.
"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"
"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.
"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.
And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.
Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?
Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?
Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.
Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?
Or—
The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.
Or do you find this… fun?
Amusing?
Arousing?
Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.
And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.
"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.
But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.
Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.
His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.
Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.
"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.
You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.
"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.
Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.
"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.
You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.
You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.
Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.
His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.
But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.
"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."
The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—
Oh god.
You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.
A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.
"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"
He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.
"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"
Fuck.
"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.
But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.
His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.
Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.
"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."
You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.
And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.
He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.
But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.
"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"
His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.
The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.
"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"
He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.
"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."
And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.
He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.
Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.
A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.
"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.
He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).
But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'
"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.
No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—
"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.
Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"
You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—
"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"
Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.
His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.
The dam breaks.
Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.
His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.
"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.
"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.
You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"
"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.
He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.
"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.
"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.
His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.
Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.
"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"
"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."
His breath catches. "But—"
"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."
Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—
"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."
He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.
"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"
And then the door clicks.
Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"
Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.
"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"
Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"
Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.
Just... maybe after he changes his pants.
･ﾟ✧ 🕷️ ━━━━━━━━ ✧･ﾟ
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He's trailing behind you again.You don't even have to turn around to know it's him—his footsteps are too eager, too bouncy, like a puppy who hasn't quite figured out how to walk without tripping over its own paws. Something in your chest tightens at the familiar sound, a mix of fondness and guilt that you try to squash down."Noona!"You sigh, but it's the kind of sigh that's more amused than annoyed, even if you'd never admit it. You should shut this down. You really should. After what happened in the library closet, you shouldn't be encouraging whatever this is."Jungkook," you say without looking back, your voice flat. "We've talked about this.""About what?" he asks, his tone all wide-eyed innocence, like he doesn't already know.Like he hasn't been following you around campus with those doe eyes and nervous energy ever since that day."About you following me around like a lost duckling," you reply dryly, finally glancing over your shoulder.The moment you do, you regret it.Because there he is: Jeon Jungkook, Yonsei University's most persistent freshman, clutching yet another plastic convenience store bag like it's a peace offering. His hair is a mess—floppy and windswept from the autumn breeze—and his big doe eyes are practically sparkling with excitement. He looks so young, so earnest, that it makes your stomach twist with guilt.You're his sunbae. You should be setting boundaries, not letting yourself get caught up in the way he looks at you like you hung the moon."I'm not following you!" he protests immediately, though the way he trips over his own feet as he rushes to catch up kind of undermines his argument. "I just… happened to be walking this way! Totally normal! Not weird at all!"You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. And the snacks?""Oh! These?" He holds up the bag like it's Exhibit A in a court case. "They're for you!""Jungkook," you groan, stopping in your tracks so you can turn to face him fully. "You keep giving me snacks, and I'm gonna get fat."The gasp he lets out is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. This is the problem—he's too endearing for his own good, making it impossible to maintain the professional distance you should."Noona!" he exclaims, looking genuinely horrified by the very idea. "Your weight is literally perfect! And even if you gained weight—which you're not just because I bring you snacks sometimes—""Every day," you interject pointedly, trying to ignore how your heart flutters at his earnest defense.You shouldn't find it charming. You're supposed to be the mature one here."—you'd still be beautiful and—uh—you—it'd be okay!" he stammers, his words tumbling over each other in his rush to reassure you. His cheeks are already turning pink, and it only gets worse when he realizes what he just said out loud. "I mean—you're already—uh—"You should stop this. Should remind him that you're his sunbae, that this kind of attention isn't appropriate.Instead, something reckless and wanting unfurls in your chest as you watch him flounder."Well," you interrupt with a smirk, deciding to mess with him despite the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, "if I gain weight, maybe my boobs will grow."The way his eyes widen is almost comical.His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he struggles to find something—anything—to say that won't make this worse for him. You know you shouldn't enjoy his flustered state this much, shouldn't feel this rush of power at how easily you can reduce him to a stammering mess, but..."Your boobs are already per—uh—ah—" He cuts himself off with a strangled noise, his face going beet red as he realizes what almost slipped out. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't trying to—I mean—"The library closet flashes through your mind—his desperate sounds, the way he trembled against you, how beautifully he fell apart. You should feel worse about that than you do. Should regret taking advantage of his obvious crush.Instead, you find yourself saying: "Jungkook.""Yep?" His voice cracks on the word, and his big doe eyes dart between yours like he's waiting for some kind of divine punishment to rain down on him. He looks ridiculous—and ridiculously cute—and it takes everything in you not to let your fondness show too much.You roll your eyes and snort softly, warring with yourself. The responsible thing would be to send him away, to maintain appropriate boundaries.Instead, you hear yourself saying: "Come by my apartment tonight."His eyes somehow get even wider. "Your… apartment?" he echoes weakly, like he can't quite believe what he just heard.The pure shock in his expression should be a wake-up call—a reminder that you're his sunbae, that you shouldn't be inviting him into your personal space like this."At eight," you add anyway, watching as his brain visibly short-circuits trying to process this information. "Yeah?""Y-y-y-yeah," he stammers, choking on his own spit in the process because of course he does. "Your apartment? At night?"You nod slowly, biting back a smile as his face flushes an even deeper shade of red.There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is dangerous territory—that after the library incident, you should be putting distance between you, not drawing him closer."Okay," he says quickly, nodding along with you like some kind of bobblehead doll. "Yeah! Okay! I can—I can do that." He swallows hard, his voice strangled as he adds, "Eight o'clock. Your apartment."He looks so flustered—so completely overwhelmed by the mere idea of being invited into your personal space—that something mischievous sparks in your chest, drowning out the guilt.You shouldn't tease him any more than you already have today—you really shouldn't—but the way he looks at you, all eager desperation and nervous energy, makes you want to see just how far you can push him."Bring condoms," you say offhandedly as you turn back around and start walking again, even as your conscience screams at you that this is crossing a line.The sound Jungkook makes is somewhere between a gasp and a choke—a strangled little noise that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing outright.You don't have to look back to know exactly what expression he's wearing: wide-eyed panic mixed with sheer disbelief and just a hint of something else... something darker that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet.You should feel worse about this. Should feel guilty for teasing your hoobae like this, for playing with his obvious feelings. Instead, you find yourself turning back, unable to resist watching him fall apart."I—I—what?!" His voice cracks so hard on the word that it echoes slightly down the street.He's standing there frozen in place, clutching the snack bag like it's the only thing keeping him upright.His mouth opens and closes uselessly for several seconds before he finally manages to croak out: "Condoms?""You don't want to?" You tilt your head innocently, watching as his entire body stiffens at the question.There's a twisted satisfaction in seeing how easily you can affect him, even as a small voice in your head reminds you that you're supposed to be the responsible one here."I want to!"The words burst out of him so fast they practically trip over each other on their way out of his mouth—and then his eyes widen in horror as he realizes how eager that sounded.“I mean—I—uh—yeah? Yes? I really—I really want to." He bites his lip nervously before adding in a much quieter voice: "...Please."The way he looks at you then—like some kind of kicked puppy who just admitted all its secrets—makes heat pool in your stomach. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake, barely out of his military service and looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted.But instead of letting him off the hook (because where's the fun in that?), you raise an eyebrow and say simply: "Good."He nods frantically at that—as if agreeing with you might somehow save him from further embarrassment—but then hesitates when something seems to occur to him.The guilt starts creeping back in as you watch him fidget, so obviously inexperienced and eager to please."Noona?" His voice is soft now—almost shy—as if whatever he's about to ask might actually kill him."Yes?" You stop walking again and turn fully toward him, trying to ignore how your heart clenches at his nervous expression."Where... where can I... uh..." He trails off awkwardly before finally blurting out: "...Buy them?"This time, you choke on your spit.Because fuck—the reminder of just how unversed he is hits you like a punch to the gut.You're terrible for this, for teasing him when he's so clearly out of his depth. For wanting to see him fall apart again, even knowing you should be protecting him instead of corrupting him."Jungkook," you say after a long moment of stunned silence, your voice softer than intended."Yes?" He looks at you hopefully, and god, you're going straight to hell for the things you want to do to him when he looks at you like that."I was joking."The look on his face when those words sink in is priceless—a mix of disappointment and relief so intense it almost makes you feel bad for teasing him this much.Almost.Because underneath that relief, you can see it—the way his eyes darken slightly, the subtle shift in his posture that tells you he wanted it to be real."...Oh," he says softly after another long pause, and something in his tone makes your chest flutter."But not about coming over tonight!" You call back as you start walking again, before you can do something stupid like take it back. Before you can give in to the urge to tell him you weren't entirely joking after all. "Bring me jajjangmyeon!"Behind you comes another strangled noise—and then hurried footsteps as Jungkook scrambles after you once again."Noona!"You keep walking, trying to ignore the way your heart races.
Jungkook bangs his head against the wall of Taehyung's apartment, each thud punctuating his words: "I. Hate. My. Self.""Why?" Taehyung doesn't even look up from his game controller, thumbs moving rapidly as he dodges an attack on screen. "You're gonna get laid.""Finally," Jimin adds helpfully from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he mashes buttons. "About time someone popped that cherry—""It's NOT like that!" Jungkook's voice cracks embarrassingly, and he seriously considers webbing both their mouths shut. Why does he have friends? Who allowed this? "She just wants to hang out!""At night?" Taehyung snorts, still focused on the game. "In her apartment?""Alone?" Jimin adds, grinning as his character lands a critical hit. "Just the two of you?""She literally said she was joking!" Jungkook protests, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of oversized puppy. "About the... you know.""The condoms?" Taehyung supplies helpfully."Shut up!""Maybe," Jimin says thoughtfully, pausing the game to turn and look at Jungkook properly, "she was joking about joking."Jungkook freezes. "No way.""Yes way.""...You think so?" And god, he hates how hopeful his voice sounds. How pathetically eager."Bro," Taehyung says, finally setting down his controller to fix Jungkook with a look. "You already nutted in your pants grinding against her in a library closet.""DIE." Jungkook buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "I hate you. I hate both of you. So much.""I mean," Jimin continues, completely unbothered by Jungkook's death threats, "she obviously knows you want her. Like, it's not exactly a secret.""What's that supposed to mean?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers, suspicious."Dude." Taehyung gives him a flat look. "You follow her around like a lost puppy.""I do not—""You bring her snacks every day—""That's just being nice!""You literally stalk her as Spider-Man—""I'm PROTECTING her!""From what?" Jimin snorts. "Paper cuts? Bad coffee? The dangers of journalism?"Jungkook makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I hate this conversation. Can we go back to you two failing at Mario Kart?""Nope," Taehyung says cheerfully, turning to face him fully now. "This is way more entertaining. So, what are you gonna wear?""What?" Jungkook blinks. "What do you mean, what am I gonna wear? Clothes?"Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that makes Jungkook's stomach drop."Oh no," Jimin says slowly. "No, no, no. You are not showing up to your potential deflowering wearing your usual disaster outfit.""My WHAT—""The oversized hoodie and ripped jeans combo," Taehyung clarifies. "It's cute for class, but for this? Absolutely not.""I'm not getting deflowered!" Jungkook protests, his voice reaching a pitch that probably only dogs can hear. "She just wants jajjangmyeon!""Right," Jimin drawls. "Because girls always invite guys over at night for noodles.""Some do!""Name one time—""I don't have to name anything! This isn't—she's not—we're not—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "She probably just wants to talk about Spider-Man again."Another loaded look passes between his friends."What?" Jungkook asks suspiciously."Nothing," they say in unison, which is never a good sign."What?!""It's just..." Taehyung starts carefully. "Maybe she wants to... confirm her suspicions?"Jungkook's blood runs cold. "What suspicions?""You know..." Jimin waves his hand vaguely. "About your... nighttime activities?""My what—OH." Jungkook's eyes widen in horror. "Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh god. You think she's gonna—""Interrogate you?" Taehyung supplies helpfully. "Probably.""While you're vulnerable?" Jimin adds with a grin. "Most likely.""Post-orgasm?" Taehyung continues. "When your guard is down?""I'm going to throw up," Jungkook announces, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "I'm actually going to be sick.""Relax," Jimin says, reaching over to pat his knee sympathetically. "Maybe she just wants to fuck you.""That's not relaxing!" Jungkook squeaks. "That's the opposite of relaxing! That's—that's—""Hot?" Taehyung suggests."Exciting?" Jimin adds."Terrifying," Jungkook corrects weakly. "What if I... what if I'm bad at it?"Another loaded silence fills the room."Well," Taehyung says slowly, "you've already set the bar pretty low with the closet incident—""I'm leaving." Jungkook starts to stand up, but Jimin grabs his arm and yanks him back down."No, you're not," Jimin says firmly. "You're going to sit here and let us help you not completely fuck this up.""I don't need help!""You came in your pants from some light grinding.""That was—it wasn't—she said it was cute!""And that's great," Taehyung says patiently. "But maybe this time we aim for something a little more... impressive?"Jungkook groans, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. "I hate this. I hate all of this. Why couldn't I just be normal?""Normal is overrated," Jimin says sagely. "Now, about those clothes...""We're not having this conversation.""We absolutely are," Taehyung declares, standing up. "Come on, let's raid my closet. You're not showing up looking like a freshman who just rolled out of bed.""But I am a freshman who just rolled out of bed!""Not tonight, you're not," Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook's other arm to haul him up. "Tonight, you're going to look like someone who might actually know what to do with a woman.""But I don't know what to do with a woman!""That's what we're here for," Taehyung says cheerfully, already heading toward his bedroom. "Sex Ed with Taehyung and Jimin, now in session!""Kill me," Jungkook mutters, but he lets himself be dragged along anyway. "Just... someone please kill me.""After you get laid," Jimin promises. "Now, let's talk about foreplay..."The noise Jungkook makes is probably audible from space.But then he’s sitting cross-legged on Taehyung's bed, face buried in his hands as his friends settle on either side of him.The game controllers lie abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of what Taehyung has dubbed "Operation: Don't Let Jungkook Embarrass Himself (Again).""Okay," Jimin says, his tone shifting from teasing to something more serious. "First rule: stop overthinking.""I'm not—""You are," Taehyung cuts in gently. "We can literally see you spiraling. Your whole face does this thing when you're in your head too much.""What thing?" Jungkook peeks through his fingers suspiciously."Like you're trying to solve quantum physics while having an existential crisis," Jimin explains. "It's not cute."Jungkook groans. "How am I supposed to not overthink? She's—she's her, and I'm just—""A superhero?" Taehyung supplies helpfully."That's different! That's not—I mean—" Jungkook makes a frustrated noise. "Spider-Man is cool. I'm not cool. I'm just... me.""And she likes you," Jimin says firmly. "Not Spider-Man. Well, maybe Spider-Man too, but she doesn't know that yet. She likes awkward, rambling, snack-bringing you.""How do you know?""Because," Taehyung says patiently, "girls don't usually let guys they're not into grind against them in library closets.""Can we please stop bringing that up?""No, because it's important," Jimin insists. "She initiated that. She guided your hands. She told you it was okay. That means she's attracted to you."Jungkook swallows hard, his face heating up at the memory. "But what if... what if she expects me to know what I'm doing now?""Then be honest," Taehyung says simply. "Tell her you're nervous. Tell her you want her to show you what she likes.""Girls love that shit," Jimin adds. "Being all vulnerable and asking for guidance? That's hot.""Really?" Jungkook looks between them skeptically."Really," they say in unison."Plus," Taehyung continues, "she already knows you're inexperienced. And she still wants you there. That means something."Jungkook chews on his bottom lip nervously. "Okay, but... what if... what if I..." He trails off, face burning."What if you what?""What if I... finish too fast again?" The last words come out as barely a whisper."Then you use your mouth," Jimin says matter-of-factly.Jungkook chokes on air. "My what?""Your mouth," Taehyung repeats calmly. "Seriously, learn to eat pussy. It's like, the number one life skill.""Oh my god." Jungkook falls backward onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. "I can't believe we're having this conversation.""Better us than you figuring it out on your own," Jimin points out. "Now sit up. This is important.""I don't want to.""Jungkook.""No.""Fine," Taehyung sighs. "Then we'll just let you go in blind and probably accidentally bite her cl—""OKAY!" Jungkook bolts upright. "Okay, I'm listening. Just... please be less graphic.""No can do," Jimin says cheerfully. "This is detailed instruction time. Now, the most important thing to remember is—"What follows is possibly the most mortifying yet educational thirty minutes of Jungkook's life. His friends, for all their teasing, are actually... helpful. They explain things clearly, answer his (extremely embarrassing) questions without judgment, and even draw diagrams that make him want to die but also kind of make sense."And remember," Taehyung says finally, "it's okay to laugh if something awkward happens. Sex isn't like porn. It's messy and weird sometimes.""And communication is key," Jimin adds. "If you're not sure about something, ask. If something feels good, say so. If something doesn't, speak up."Jungkook nods slowly, processing everything. "Okay. Yeah. I can... I can do that.""And for fuck's sake," Taehyung says, "breathe. You look like you're about to pass out.""I might," Jungkook admits weakly. "This is... a lot.""It is," Jimin agrees, patting his knee. "But you've got this. And hey, maybe nothing will happen tonight. Maybe she really does just want to eat jajjangmyeon and talk.""Right," Jungkook says, though his voice wavers slightly. "Just... normal hanging out.""But if something does happen," Taehyung adds with a grin, "at least now you know where the clit is.""I hate you both so much.""You love us," Jimin corrects. "Now, about those clothes..."Jungkook flops back onto the bed with another groan, but this time, it's less panicked and more resigned. Because yeah, okay, maybe his friends are right. Maybe this won't be a complete disaster.Maybe.Probably.Oh god, he's going to throw up."Stop spiraling," Taehyung says immediately. "I can see you doing it.""I'm not spiraling!" Jungkook protests. "I'm just... mentally preparing.""For what? The worst possible scenario?""Yes!""Which is?" Jimin prompts."I don't know! Everything? What if I trip and break her lamp? What if I say something stupid? What if I accidentally web her ceiling fan? What if—""Okay, new rule," Taehyung interrupts. "No spider powers in the bedroom unless explicitly discussed beforehand.""Oh my god.""He's right though," Jimin says thoughtfully. "Save the web-shooting for later. That's like, advanced kink territory.""I'm leaving," Jungkook announces for the hundredth time. "I'm actually leaving this time.""No, you're not," they say in unison, each grabbing one of his arms to keep him in place."We still haven't picked out your outfit," Taehyung reminds him."Or talked about protection," Jimin adds."Or—""Fine!" Jungkook throws his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Just... please stop saying 'web-shooting' in relation to... that."His friends exchange matching grins that make him immediately regret everything."No promises," they say together.Jungkook screams into a pillow.
The doorbell rings, loud and obnoxious, startling you out of your focus.You pause mid-sentence, fingers hovering over your laptop's keyboard as you glance toward the door. When did the bell get so loud? It's like it's mocking you for forgetting—or pretending to forget—that you invited him over.You sigh, pulling off your headphones and letting them rest around your neck as you shuffle toward the door.Your bunny slippers scuff softly against the floor, and you tug at the hem of your tank top absentmindedly. You're not exactly dressed to impress—grey sweats, a loose tank top, hair probably a mess—but whatever. It's your apartment. Comfort trumps everything else.(Though a small voice in your head reminds you that maybe you should've put on something less... revealing. Something that doesn't show quite so much skin, doesn't blur the lines between sunbae and…)You open the door, and there he is.Jeon Jungkook, standing in the hallway in his own grey sweats and an oversized hoodie, looking like he just stepped out of a cozy loungewear ad. His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he'd rushed to shower before coming over. He's holding a plastic bag in one hand, and his other is shoved awkwardly into his pocket. For some reason, he's staring off to the side, like he's too nervous to look directly at the door.But then his gaze shifts—quickly, immediately—and lands on you. And just like that, it's like all the tension in his body melts away. His shoulders drop slightly, and there's this soft little exhale that escapes him as his lips curve into a sheepish smile. The pure relief in his expression makes your stomach twist with guilt."Brought jajjangmyon as you requested, noona," he says, holding up the bag like it's some kind of peace offering.The way he says "noona," all shy and reverent like it's some sacred title only meant for you—it shouldn't make your chest feel warm, but it does. It really shouldn't.You bite back both a smile and the urge to tell him to go home, to forget about whatever this thing between you is becoming. Instead, you step aside to let him in, watching as he hesitates for half a second before shuffling past you into the apartment, his sneakers squeaking softly against the floor.You close the door behind him and turn to find him standing awkwardly near the entrance, clutching the bag like it's a lifeline. His eyes dart around your apartment—taking in the cluttered desk with your laptop still open, the half-empty mug of coffee on the table, the blanket draped over the back of your couch—but they always seem to come back to you.Like he can't help himself, like you're some kind of magnet he can't resist.And then there's this moment—a brief flicker—where his gaze lowers slightly, catching on your tank top and sweats. It's subtle, almost imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. The way his jaw tightens just a fraction before he quickly looks away again, like he's afraid of being caught staring.It reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, all desperate want and nervous energy.He clears his throat. "Uh... nice place."You snort softly, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "It's a mess.""It's cozy," he says earnestly, and when he looks at you again, there's something warm in his eyes.Something that makes you want to push him away before you do something stupid like pull him closer.You shake off the feeling and motion for him to follow you further inside."C'mon," you say over your shoulder as you walk toward your desk, needing distance. "I need some help with something.""With what?" he asks immediately, trailing after you like an obedient puppy.Always so eager to please, so ready to do anything you ask. It would be easier if he wasn't so genuine about it.You glance back at him briefly and smirk, falling back on teasing because it's safer than acknowledging whatever happened. "Carrying all this food to my desk."His lips twitch upward into another sheepish smile as he holds up the bag again. "I can do that."Of course he can.You roll your eyes but don't say anything else as you plop back down into your chair and gesture for him to set everything on the table beside your laptop. You need to focus on something—anything—other than how domestic this feels, how naturally he fits into your space.As he unpacks the containers of jajjangmyon with meticulous care—like each one is some kind of precious artifact—you can't help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There's something about seeing him here—in your space—that feels... different.Dangerous.Like this is some kind of alternate universe where Jeon Jungkook isn't just that awkward freshman who follows you around campus with snacks and stammered compliments but someone who actually belongs here.It's stupid. You know it is. But still."You didn't have to bring all this," you say finally, breaking the silence as he sets down a pair of chopsticks beside one of the containers. Your voice comes out sharper than intended, an edge of defensiveness creeping in."You asked for it," he replies simply, glancing up at you with those wide doe eyes of his.Always so earnest, so sincere. It makes something in your chest ache."I was joking.""I know." He smiles softly—just barely—but there's something about it that makes your guilt surge.“Then why’d you bring it?”“Because…” He hesitates for half a second before shrugging lightly. “Because I wanted to.”There's something so simple—so pure—about his answer that it catches you off guard for a moment. You don't know what to say to that, so instead, you just grab one of the containers and pop it open with a quiet "thanks," trying to ignore how your hands shake slightly.He sits down across from you without being asked—like this is normal now—and starts unpacking his own food while sneaking occasional glances at you when he thinks you're not looking. Each glance feels like a weight on your conscience, reminding you how badly you're handling this whole situation.The silence stretches between you as you both eat, broken only by the soft clicking of chopsticks against containers.Something’s... off.Jungkook's usually endless chatter is conspicuously absent, replaced by this heavy quiet that makes your skin crawl.You glance up from your food to find him staring intently at his container, his fingers fidgeting with the chopsticks like he's trying to work up the courage to say something.There's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, a nervousness that reminds you too much of how he looked in that closet, and—Oh.Oh.The guilt hits you like a slap on the fucking face.Because what kind of sunbae are you? Getting off on making your hoobae squirm? Letting him grind against you until he came in his pants? Who even are you? Was it worth the power trip?God, you’re insane. You are out of your depth. You are disgusting.And now he's sitting here, all quiet and nervous, probably thinking about it too, probably wondering if you're going to acknowledge it or pretend it never happened and—Something ugly and defensive rises in your chest, a need to push him away before he gets too close. Before you can fuck this up any more than you already have."So," you start, your voice deliberately casual as you type random nonsense just to look busy. Your fingers move across the keyboard without purpose, just needing something to focus on besides the way he keeps sneaking glances at you. "Did you tell your friends about our little encounter?"Jungkook chokes on his noodles, face immediately flushing red. "I—what?""You know," you continue, still not looking at him because you can't handle those doe eyes right now. "The closet thing. Did you brag about it? Tell all your freshman friends how you got felt up by a senior?"God, you sound cruel even to your own ears. But it's better this way, right? Better to push him away now before this gets even more complicated. Before you let yourself get used to having him in your space, all soft smiles and eager eyes."N-no!" he stammers, sounding horrified. "I wouldn't—I mean, I did tell Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, but—""Of course you did," you cut him off with a sharp laugh that doesn't sound like you at all. "Bet they were impressed, huh? Their baby Jungkookie getting action in the library?"His breath hitches audibly, and you hate how the sound makes your chest tight. You're doing this for his own good, you remind yourself. He deserves better than some senior who gets off on making him cry."It wasn't like that," he says quietly, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. "I just... I needed advice—""Advice?" You finally look at him, raising an eyebrow even as your nails dig into your palms. "What kind of advice? How to last longer than three minutes?"The moment the words leave your mouth, you see him physically flinch. His eyes go wide, glassy with unshed tears, and something in your chest fractures.You're the worst. The absolute worst."I'm sorry," he whispers, voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—I know I was pathetic—""Stop," you say immediately, panic rising in your throat because you can see it coming—the way his lips tremble, the way he's looking at you with such raw emotion.
Don't say it. Please don't say it.
But he's already spiraling, words tumbling out between hiccupping breaths: "I know I'm inexperienced and awkward and probably really bad at everything, but I—I really like you, noona, and I—""What's next?" You spit out, desperate to stop the confession you don't deserve, nails drawing blood from your palms now. "Gonna cry? Beg? Whimper noona until I take pity on you?" A harsh laugh scrapes your throat. "What would you even do if I told you to get on your knees right now?"Silence.You snort, turning back to your laptop, relief flooding through you because finally, finally he's going to realize what a terrible person you are and—Fabric rustles. The soft thud of denim hitting floorboards. Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.He kneels between your spread legs, palms on his thighs. The overhead light catches the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks."Okay."Your pulse thunders. "Okay what?""However you want me." His voice quivers but doesn't break. "However you need."The cursor blinks mockingly on screen. You suddenly can't remember your Wi-Fi password. Your thesis topic. Your own name."What are you doing?" Your voice comes out strangled."You asked," he whispers, voice trembling but determined. "If I would get on my knees for you, noona.""I was being cruel," you say quickly, but your mouth feels dry. "I was trying to hurt you.""I know." His hands shake where they rest on his thighs, tears tracking down his cheeks. "But I'd still... I'd still do anything. Even if you're just being mean. Even if you're trying to push me away."Your breath catches. "Jungkook—""I bought them," he blurts out suddenly, face burning red. "The condoms. Even though—even though you said you were joking. I just... just in case. Because I wanted—I wanted to be ready if you..." He hiccups, more tears spilling over. "If you ever actually wanted me."The guilt chokes you. "Stop it.""Please don't push me away," he begs, voice cracking as he shifts closer, forehead pressing against your knee. "I know I'm pathetic. I know I'm just some stupid freshman who came in his pants the first time you touched him, but I—I can't stop thinking about you. About how good you made me feel. About how much I want to make you feel good too."You stare at him, caught off guard by his desperate honesty. "You don't know what you want.""I do," he insists, looking up at you through wet lashes. "I think about you all the time. When I'm alone, I—" He cuts himself off with a hiccup, shame coloring his cheeks. "I touch myself thinking about your hands. Your voice. How you said I was good for you."A broken noise escapes you—something between a laugh and a sob. "Jungkook, we can't—""I'll be better," he promises frantically, hands hovering near your thighs like he's afraid to touch. "I'll last longer. I'll learn how to... how to please you properly. Just please don't—don't regret what happened. Don't hate me for wanting you so much."You drop your head into your hands, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. He's still crying, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he kneels before you like some kind of devoted supplicant."I practiced," he confesses in a broken whisper, and you can hear how much it costs him to admit this. "After... after the closet. Trying to—to last longer. Because I was so embarrassed about... about how fast I..." He hiccups, pressing his burning face against your knee. "Jimin-hyung and Tae-hyung, they tried to help. Gave me advice. Told me how to... how to be good for you.""Jesus, Jungkook," you breathe, because what are you supposed to say to that?"I know it's stupid," he rushes out, words tumbling over each other between hiccups. "I know you probably think I'm just some dumb kid with a crush, but it's more than that. You make me feel... you make me feel like I could be good enough. Like maybe being inexperienced isn't... isn't the worst thing in the world."Your fingers find their way into his hair without permission, and the broken sound he makes at the contact nearly kills you. He leans into your touch like he's starving for it, tears still flowing freely."When you touched me," he continues, voice barely above a whisper, "in the closet... it was the first time anyone ever... and you were so gentle. So patient. Even though I was pathetic and came too fast and probably squeezed your breast too hard—""Stop calling yourself pathetic," you interrupt, tugging gently at his hair until he looks up at you. His face is a mess of tears and vulnerability, and something in your chest breaks. "God, Jungkook. You weren't pathetic. You were adorable."He makes this wounded sound, like your words physically hurt him. "But I—I ruined it. Made it weird. Got too desperate and needy and—""That's what made it beautiful," you admit softly, thumbs brushing away his tears. "How honest you were. How much you wanted it. Wanted me."His breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over. "I still do," he whispers. "Want you. So much it hurts sometimes. Even if you're being mean, even if you're trying to push me away... I just want to be close to you."Your hands tremble slightly as you cup his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. His skin is feverish under your palms, tears still flowing freely as he looks up at you with those devastating doe eyes."I'm sorry," you murmur, watching as he blinks in confusion. "For being cruel earlier. I just... I felt so guilty. About taking advantage of you. About wanting you when I shouldn't.""You weren't," he says immediately, desperately. "Taking advantage. I wanted it so bad, noona. Still want it. Want anything you'll give me." His voice cracks on another hiccup. "Even if—even if it's just this. Just letting me be close to you.""Jungkook..." Your thumbs brush away fresh tears, but they're quickly replaced by more."I know I'm not good enough," words spilling out between quiet sobs. "Know I should probably be with someone my own age. Someone who won't have to teach me everything. But I—I want it to be you. Want you to show me how to... how to make you feel good. How to be what you need."Your heart clenches at his words, at how earnestly he offers himself up to you.“Baby," the endearment slips out again, making him shudder. "You don't have to try so hard.""I want to," he insists, hands finally settling on your thighs, grip trembling but determined. "Want to learn everything. How to touch you. How to... how to use my mouth. How to make you cum. Please, noona."His voice breaks on the honorific, more tears spilling down his cheeks."I like you so much. So—so much it hurts. Can't focus in class because I keep thinking about you. Can't sleep because I keep remembering how you touched me, how you looked at me like I wasn't just some stupid freshman.""Jungkook—""Please don't tell me to stay away," he chokes out, panic clear in his voice. "I know I should. Know it's wrong because you're my sunbae and I'm just—just me, but I can't. I can't." His fingers dig into your thighs desperately. "I'll do anything. Be anything you want. Just please don't push me away."Your heart aches at how broken he sounds, at the raw desperation in his voice. "Baby...""I dream about you," he confesses in a rush, like he's afraid you'll stop him. "About—about your hands. Your voice. The way you said I was good for you. Nobody's ever—nobody's made me feel like that before. Like I’m good enough. Just Jungkook.”He's rambling now, words tumbling out between hiccups and sobs. "I know I'm probably terrible at everything. Know I should've lasted longer, should've touched you better, should've—should've been more in control but I couldn't. Can't think straight when you look at me like that. When you call me 'baby' and touch my hair and—"You can't take it anymore. Can't handle how earnest he is, how desperately he's trying to convince you not to reject him. Your hands slide from his tear-stained cheeks into his hair, and he makes this broken little sound that goes straight to your heart."Noona," he whimpers, looking up at you through wet lashes. "Please."You lean down, your heart thundering in your chest as you press your lips to his.It's soft at first—tender, careful, like you're afraid he might shatter if you push too hard. His lips are warm and slightly salty from tears, trembling against yours as he makes this tiny, desperate sound in the back of his throat.When his mouth parts on a shaky exhale, you can't help but deepen the kiss. Your tongue slides against his, and the way he gasps—soft and surprised, like he can't believe this is happening—makes heat pool in your stomach. His hands clench against your thighs, fingers trembling with nervous energy as he tries to match your rhythm.God, he's so fucking precious. So earnest in the way he responds, letting you guide him with gentle pressure and encouraging hums. When you thread your fingers through his hair, he whimpers into your mouth, tears still tracking down his cheeks even as he kisses you back with clumsy enthusiasm.You press harder, something possessive and hungry unfurling in your chest at how pliant he is, how desperately he tries to please you. Your other hand cups his jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further, and he just melts for you. His mouth is sweet and eager, and you want to fucking devour him—want to swallow every little hiccupping sob and breathy moan he makes.You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He's your hoobae, for fuck's sake—this eager, crying freshman who looks at you like you hung the moon. But the way he trembles under your touch, the way he gives himself over so completely... it makes you want to wreck him. To take him apart piece by piece until he's sobbing for an entirely different reason.When you finally pull back, he chases your lips with a broken whine that goes straight to your core. His eyes flutter open, glazed and desperate, tears still clinging to his lashes like diamonds."Noona," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked—all raw and pleading in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid again.You shouldn't.You really, really shouldn't.But god help you, you do.
Jungkook's brain is absolutely short-circuiting.Like, full system failure, blue screen of death, please-restart-your-computer levels of malfunction.Because this? This can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream or maybe he hit his head on the way over here because there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that you just kissed him.But you did. You actually did. Your lips were on his, soft and warm and real, and now he's kneeling here like an idiot, staring up at you with what he's sure is the most pathetic expression ever because holy fuck.He hadn't expected any of this. Really. After the whole teasing thing earlier (and the mortifying sex ed session with Taehyung and Jimin), he'd convinced himself nothing would happen. That's why he wore his comfy clothes—his safe clothes—even though yeah, okay, maybe he did buy condoms. Just in case. Because he's pathetic and hopeful and maybe a tiny part of him wanted to believe...But no. He was fine with just bringing jajjangmyon. More than fine. He would've been happy just sitting here, watching you work, existing in the same space as you. That would've been enough.Then you started pushing him away, and he just... broke. Started crying like some kind of oversized baby because apparently that's who he is now—someone who sobs at the first sign of rejection.God, he's such a mess. Such an absolute disaster of a human being.He apologized (between hiccups and tears because of course he did), but then you apologized too, and then—and then—you kissed him. You actually kissed him. With your mouth. On his mouth. While he was crying. Which should be embarrassing (it is embarrassing), but he can't even care because holy shit, you kissed him.And now you're looking at him with this expression he can't quite read, your hands cradling his face like he's something precious instead of just some awkward freshman who can't keep his emotions in check."Stand up," you murmur, thumbs brushing away the remnants of his tears.He scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process because apparently his body has forgotten how legs work. His knees protest after kneeling for so long, and he sways slightly, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides because he doesn't know what to do with them.Should he touch you? Is he allowed to touch you? What are the rules here? Is there a manual for this? Why didn't Taehyung and Jimin cover proper post-crying makeout etiquette in their weird sex ed lesson?"Breathe," you remind him softly, and oh—right. That's a thing he should probably be doing.He takes a shaky breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart as you look up at him with those eyes that make him feel like he's simultaneously floating and drowning.This is real. This is actually happening. Somehow, his pathetic, crying, disaster self has achieved... something. He's not sure what exactly, but something.And he really, really hopes he doesn't fuck it up.His tears haven't quite stopped—because of course they haven't, he's a walking emotional disaster—when you look up at him from your chair. His breath catches in his throat, expecting... well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More kissing maybe? You to stand up? To tell him to stop being such a crybaby?What he's definitely not expecting is for you to slide out of your chair and onto your knees in front of him.His brain short-circuits completely when your hands find his hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweats. A gasp escapes him—embarrassingly high-pitched and needy—because holy fuck, are you—is this—what is happening?You look up at him through your lashes, and his heart actually stops. "Is this okay?" you ask softly, thumbs rubbing circles against his hipbones through the fabric.He nods so fast he probably gives himself whiplash, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks because he can't seem to get his body under control. Words fail him entirely—his vocabulary reduced to a series of choked sounds as you hook your fingers into the waistband of both his sweats and boxers.Oh god.Oh fuck.This is actually happening. This is—The fabric slides down his thighs, and Jungkook wants to die immediately because his dick is already hard. Like, embarrassingly hard. Because apparently his body is determined to humiliate him at every possible opportunity today.A strangled whimper escapes him as cool air hits his exposed skin. His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, trembling with the effort not to cover himself as more tears track down his burning cheeks.He's never felt more exposed in his life—standing here with his pants around his thighs, dick straining eagerly toward you like some kind of desperate compass pointing true north.God, could he be any more obvious? Any more pathetic?"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice cracking. "I—it just—you just—"“You’re okay.”Your words are so gentle, so soothing, that it only makes Jungkook cry harder. Because how can you be this understanding? This tender with someone like him who can't even stop sobbing long enough to form coherent sentences?But then—oh god—your thumb brushes against the underside of his cock, a slow, deliberate stroke from tip to base that makes his entire body shudder. And when you squeeze softly, testing, exploring? His knees nearly buckle.He watches, transfixed, as your hand glides up and down his length with careful precision. Slow, so, so slow. The movement is hypnotic, making his breath catch on every upstroke, forcing tiny whimpers past his lips that he tries desperately to muffle behind his hand."Eyes on me," you command softly, and his gaze snaps to yours immediately.His chest heaves with hiccupping sobs, tears still falling freely as he tries to process that this is real—that you're actually touching him, that this isn't just another fevered fantasy. His free hand hovers awkwardly in the air, unsure where it's allowed to land.You chuckle—a warm, tender sound that makes his heart flip—and murmur, "Don't hold back those pretty sounds, baby. And here..." You guide his hovering hand to your hair. "Hold onto me if you need support."The permission—both to touch and to be vocal—makes him whimper pathetically. His fingers thread shakily through your hair, careful and reverent, like he still can't quite believe he's allowed this."That's it," you encourage softly. "Just like that."He can barely breathe as you maintain eye contact, your hand working him in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tremble. Every touch feels electric—too much and not enough all at once."I'm s-sorry," he chokes out between sobs, fingers tightening reflexively in your hair. "For the—hic—crying, I can't—hic—stop—""Shh," you soothe, your free hand stroking his hip. "You're being so good for me."The praise makes him whimper, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. His cock twitches in your grip, already leaking precum, and he feels his face burn hotter with embarrassment."Noona," he whines, voice cracking. "I'm—hic—I'm already so—""I know, baby," you murmur, and then your tongue flicks out to taste the bead of precum at his tip.The noise he makes is absolutely wrecked—somewhere between a sob and a moan. His hips jerk forward instinctively before he catches himself, mortified."S-sorry! I didn't mean to—hic—to—""It's okay," you assure him, looking up through your lashes. "You can move if you need to."He shakes his head frantically, still hiccupping. "Don't wanna—hic—hurt you—"Your response is to take him into your mouth properly, and Jungkook's entire world narrows to the welcoming heat of your tongue sliding against his length. His legs shake so hard he has to grip your hair tighter just to stay upright."Oh god," he sobs, watching through tear-blurred vision as you take him deeper. "Oh fuck, noona, I can't—hic—it's too much—"You hum around him in response, and the vibration makes his whole body shudder. He's babbling now, unable to stop the stream of desperate praise and broken pleas falling from his lips between hiccups."So good," he whimpers, "you're so—hic—perfect, I can't—please—hic—noona—"Jungkook’s brain is mush. Absolute, scrambled, incoherent mush.Because he’s seen porn—obviously he’s seen porn, military barracks aren’t exactly monasteries—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality of your mouth on him. The heat, the suction, the way your tongue swirls just beneath his tip every time you pull back—it’s obscene.He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or dying. Or both.His hips jerk forward involuntarily, a choked sob tearing from his throat as you take him deeper.“N-noona—hic—’m sorry, I can’t—hic—can’t hold—”You pull off with a filthy pop, and he nearly collapses right there.But then you’re looking up at him, lips glistening, and saying the words that unravel him completely: “It’s okay, Jungkook-ah. Noona wants to taste you.”His vision whites out for a second. You want to taste him. Want him. His pathetic, trembling, overeager self. The thought alone makes his cock twitch desperately, more precum beading at the tip as he fights the urge to just—"Please," he chokes out between hiccups, his filter completely gone. "Can I—hic—down your throat? Please, noona, I've wanted—hic—for so long—"Oh god. Oh fuck. Did he really just say that out loud?Taehyung and Jimin's voices echo in his head—focus on her comfort, ask what she wants, don't be selfish—but his horny brain has completely taken over, reducing him to this desperate, begging mess."I'm s-sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified tears streaming down his face. "That was—hic—so stupid, I shouldn't have—you don't have to—"Then you swallow him back down, all the way to the hilt, and his brain restarts completely."F-fuck—hic—noona—" His voice breaks as his orgasm builds, violent and overwhelming. His grip on your hair tightens, probably painful (god, he's the worst, he's so fucking inconsiderate, he should let go, should—). "I'm c-cumming—hic—'m so sorry, I'm—hic—ah—!"He tries to pull back, he really does, but you hold him in place, humming around him like this is exactly what you wanted.His vision blurs with tears as he comes harder than he ever has in his life, a broken groan tearing from his throat that would normally send him into a spiral of embarrassment.Stupid stupid stupid, his brain chants as he shakes through the aftershocks. So fucking selfish. So desperate. She probably thinks you're disgusting. Probably hates you now. Probably—But then you're looking up at him through your lashes, swallowing deliberately, and his spiral breaks at the soft, approving sound you make. Like this is good.Like he's good.Your laugh—warm and tender—cuts through his panic as you pull off to press a gentle kiss to his sensitive tip."That's exactly what I wanted," you murmur, and his heart stops completely.
God help him.
Jungkook wipes at his tears with the back of his wrist, sniffling softly as he tries to gather what's left of his courage. His voice is still shaky, still thick with tears, but there's a determination in it that surprises even him:"Please let me—hic—eat you out," he manages, his face burning but his gaze steady. "Want to make you feel good too. You've done it twice for me now, it's not—it's not fair.""Jungkook," you start gently, "I'm fine, you don't owe me—""It's not about owing," he interrupts, surprising himself with his boldness. His hands tremble, but his voice stays firm despite the lingering hiccups. "It's not fair that—hic—that you get to taste me and I don't get to taste you."The words come out needier than he intended, more desperate, and he feels his face heat further. But he doesn't take them back. Can't take them back. Not when he's wanted this for so long—wanted to know what you taste like, what sounds you'd make, if you'd guide him with your hands in his hair like you did in the closet."Please, noona," he whispers, eyes wide and earnest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. "Let me try? I—hic—I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'll be good, I promise."Your eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on your face, and Jungkook realizes you'd misunderstood—thought he meant it wasn't fair to you, when really... god, how could he explain that getting to taste you would be the biggest privilege of his life?A soft chuckle escapes you, warm and amused. "Since when are you so bold, young mister?"His face burns hotter, but he doesn't back down. Can't back down. Not when the thought of tasting you is making his head spin with want."Since—hic—since you let me have something I never thought I'd get," he admits, voice wavering but sincere. "And now I just... want more."The last word comes out embarrassingly needy, but he's beyond caring at this point."More?" you echo, that amused smile still playing at your lips."Everything," he breathes, the word tumbling out before he can stop it. "Anything you'll give me. Please, noona. I just—I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you feel good like you made me feel good. Want to—hic—learn how to please you properly."Your expression softens at his earnestness, at how desperately he's trying to convey just how much he wants this—wants you."You really want to taste me that badly?" you ask, standing up and pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.He nods frantically, leaning into your touch like a touch-starved kitten. "More than—hic—anything. Please?"The way he says 'please'—all breathy and desperate—makes something in your expression shift. Your thumb brushes across his bottom lip, and he parts them instinctively, wanting to show you just how eager he is to learn."Such a good boy," you murmur, and his whole body shudders at the praise. "Always so polite when you beg."Your words go straight to his dick, which—obviously—twitches back to life because apparently it has absolutely no shame when it comes to you. Zero self-control. None. Especially when you say things like "good boy" in that voice that makes his whole body feel like it's on fire."Oh, hi again," you chuckle, glancing down at his rapidly hardening length.Something possesses him then—maybe it's the lingering high from his orgasm, or maybe it's just the way you're looking at him like he's actually worthy of your attention—but his hands move on their own, fingers trembling slightly as they cradle your jaw. He guides your face back up, wanting to see your eyes, needing to see them.Then he's leaning down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft it makes his chest ache. When he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper:
"Can I please, then?"
You nod with a smirk, and Jungkook's entire nervous system goes into overdrive.Okay. Stay calm. Everyone stay fucking calm. His brain is firing signals in every direction like a broken switchboard—hey blood cells, maybe focus on making his tongue work instead of rushing to his dick again? Thanks.You help him pull his sweats and briefs back up (and he tries very hard not to combust at how domestic that feels), then grab his wrist. His heart leaps into his throat as you lead him through your apartment, past the living room and—oh.Oh.That's... that's definitely your bedroom.His eyes dart everywhere at once, trying to memorize every detail like he's studying for the most important test of his life. There's a small plant on your windowsill (note to self: you like greenery), some photos on the wall (maybe he could get you a nice frame?), books scattered on your nightstand (he should ask what genres you—)His mental catalog screeches to a halt as you sit on the edge of your bed, leaning back on your palms and looking up at him with that expression that makes his knees weak. Your eyes flick meaningfully to your sweats, and then:"Take them off for me, Jungkook-ah?"He actually chokes on his own spit, because what the fuck. How do you do that? How do you make simple requests sound like commands that make him want to drop to his knees and pledge eternal devotion?Jungkook crouches down in front of you, his fingers trembling as they find the waistband of your sweats. Oh god. Oh god. Is this happening? This is happening. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Or pass out. Or maybe combust entirely. His dick is already twitching against his thigh, and he’s genuinely terrified he might actually cum just from looking at you.He swallows hard, trying to steady himself as he pushes the fabric down, watching with wide, reverent eyes as your sweats slide over your hips and down your legs. It feels surreal—like he’s in some kind of dream sequence or shooting a luxury lingerie ad. The way the fabric clings to your skin, catching briefly on your foot before sliding free under his careful fingers—it’s too much. Too elegant. Too perfect.And then they’re off, and he’s back on his knees, staring at you like you’re a goddess descended from the heavens. His gaze trails up your legs, over the soft curve of your thighs, until it lands on the black panties that cling to you in a way that makes his mouth salivate.Oh god oh god oh god. He’s going to die. He’s going to die right here on your bedroom floor because there’s no way his body can handle this level of perfection.But then—your fingertip touches his chin, tilting his face upward until he meets your gaze. His breath catches as you make a small beckoning motion with your finger, and he stumbles forward without hesitation, letting you guide him."You should start with kisses," you murmur softly, your voice low and inviting. "Come here."His breath hitches audibly as you part your lips slightly, leaning back just enough to wait for him. He scrambles up a little higher, hands planting themselves awkwardly beside your thighs for balance as he leans in.His lips meet yours again—soft at first, hesitant—but then you hum against his mouth, and it’s like something inside him snaps. His hands grip the bedspread tightly as he kisses you deeper, pouring every ounce of devotion and desperation into the press of his lips against yours.Because this? This is everything. You’re everything. And he wants—no, needs—to show you just how much he means that.Your lips move against his, slow and deliberate, guiding him like you’re teaching him a language he’s desperate to learn. Jungkook tries to follow your lead, tries to match the way your mouth parts just slightly, the way your tongue brushes against his bottom lip before retreating. He’s clumsy—he knows he is—but you don’t seem to mind. Every time he falters, you hum softly, tilting your head to show him how to angle his better, how to deepen the kiss without rushing.It’s intoxicating. The way you taste, the way you feel—like you’re pouring all your patience and care into this one moment. He can barely keep up, his breaths coming in short, shaky bursts as his hands grip the bedspread tighter, knuckles white with the effort of not touching you anywhere else.“Slower,” you murmur against his lips, and he nods frantically, trying to remember how to breathe as he adjusts his pace. Your tongue slides against his again—not too much, just enough—and it sends a shiver down his spine so intense he nearly collapses onto you.He pulls back slightly, gasping for air as his chest heaves. His gaze flickers up to meet yours for a split second before snapping downward—and that’s when he sees it.Your tank top has shifted slightly in all the movement, and now your nipples are peaked against the fabric, straining in a way that makes his brain completely shut down. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He’s going to cum in five seconds if he doesn’t look away—if he doesn’t—“Jungkook,” your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts like a lifeline, and then your hands are cradling his face again, forcing him to look back up at you. Your thumbs brush gently over his cheeks as you smile softly.“Take it off for me,” you say simply, nodding toward your tank top.His breath catches audibly as his hands twitch at his sides. "I—I—” Words fail him entirely because what the fuck is happening? Is this real? Are you actually asking him to—“Go on,” you encourage gently, your voice steady and patient in a way that makes him melt. “You can do it.”He swallows hard and nods shakily, his trembling hands moving toward the hem of your tank top like it’s some sacred artifact.He almost fumbles the hem of your tank top. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he grips the fabric and starts to lift it, moving slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping the most precious gift in existence. The soft material slides up over your stomach, then your ribs, and then—oh god—your breasts.He freezes for a moment, tank top bunched awkwardly in his hands as his gaze locks onto you.Oh fuck. Oh fuck.They’re perfect.Absolutely fucking perfect.Round and soft and exactly how he remembers them from the closet incident—how they felt in his hands, how they fit so perfectly against his palms like they were made for him. He’s revisited that moment in his head a hundred times since it happened, but seeing them now? Bare and right in front of him? It’s so much better than anything his imagination could’ve conjured.His mouth goes dry as his eyes trace every curve, every detail. The way your nipples are peaked just slightly, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath—it’s mesmerizing. He feels like he should say something, do something, but all he can do is stare like a fucking idiot.“Jungkook,” you chuckle softly, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. “Go on.”Your voice snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s still holding your tank top halfway up your body like some kind of moron. His face flushes bright red as he scrambles to pull it the rest of the way off, nearly tangling it in your hair before finally tossing it aside.“I’m sorry,” he blurts out immediately, his voice cracking as he looks back at you with wide, panicked eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”“Jungkook,” you interrupt gently, reaching out to cup his cheek again. “It’s okay.”He nods frantically, still blushing furiously as his gaze flickers downward again—just for a second—before snapping back up to meet yours.“You’re just—you’re so—” He cuts himself off with a strangled noise because there aren’t words for what you are. Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.You tap one of his hands where it's gripping the bedspread, and his gaze follows the movement before understanding clicks. Oh. You want his hand. You're reaching for his hand and—oh fuck—pressing it against your breast.He swallows thickly as his palm makes contact with soft, warm skin. It's exactly as perfect as he remembers from the closet, maybe even better because now he can actually see what he's touching. His hand twitches automatically, squeezing slightly, and you hiss."Sorry!" he yelps immediately, trying to pull back, but you just chuckle and hold his hand in place."It's okay," you murmur, your voice gentle but firm. "Don't grab. You need to knead." Your fingers guide his, showing him how to massage properly. "And brush your thumb... here." You move his thumb to your nipple, and the soft sigh that escapes your lips makes his cock twitch violently against his thigh.Fuck, that was hot. That was so fucking hot he might actually die."Roll it between your thumb and forefinger," you instruct softly, "and do the same with the other one."Okay. Okay, he can do this. This is fine. This is totally fine. He's just touching the most perfect breasts in existence while trying not to cum in his pants. Again. No pressure.His other hand moves up hesitantly to mirror the first, and when you make another pleased sound, his nonexistent tail practically wags. Each soft sigh that falls from your lips feels like a reward, like proof that he's doing something right for once.He can't help himself—he leans in to kiss you again, unable to resist the way your mouth parts slightly with each breath. His hands work in tandem now, one kneading gently while the other plays with your nipple, and the moan you let out against his lips?Yeah, that's getting filed away in his brain forever. Right next to his most precious memories, ready to be replayed approximately ten thousand times when he's alone.Because holy fuck, the sounds you make. The way you feel. The fact that you're letting him touch you like this, teaching him how to please you—it's almost too much. Almost overwhelming in how perfect it is.But he wants more. Wants to earn more of those sounds, more of those sighs, more of everything you're willing to give him."Noona, I'm gonna cum," Jungkook stammers against your lips when you finally let him breathe. He doesn't even know why he says it—except that it's absolutely true. His cock is twitching violently against his thigh, ready to explode at any second because apparently that's just what his body does around you now.You chuckle warmly, and he almost starts crying again because god, he's so fucking embarrassing. But then your hand is in his hair, stroking gently, and your voice is so soft when you ask:"Is this your first time? With breasts?"He looks away, cheeks burning as he nods shyly. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes, too afraid of what he might see there."That's normal then," you assure him, fingers still carding through his hair. "Everything feels more intense the first time."He glances back at you, heart stuttering at the gentle understanding in your expression. There's no judgment there, no mockery—just warmth and something that makes his chest ache."You can cum while sucking and playing with my tits if you want," you murmur, and the eager moan that escapes him should be mortifying but somehow isn't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like his enthusiasm is endearing rather than pathetic.You lean back onto the bed, and his mouth goes dry as he watches you position yourself. He follows eagerly, hovering over you before leaning down to take one nipple between his lips. The moment his mouth makes contact, your back arches slightly and your fingers find his hair again.Oh fuck. The sound you make—this soft, breathy thing—nearly sends him over the edge right there. His hand finds your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his fingers like you taught him, while his free hand fumbles desperately with his sweats, shoving them down just enough to wrap around his leaking cock.He's so close already, pre-cum making his fingers slide easily as he strokes himself. Every little gasp and sigh you make sends sparks down his spine, making his hips buck into his own grip as he sucks and licks at your nipple like his life depends on it."Can I—" Jungkook chokes out between desperate pants, "Can I cum on your—your tits? Please?"You nod softly, and he almost sobs with relief as he positions himself, straddling your waist. His hand works frantically over his length as he stares down at your perfect breasts, and then he's cumming with a broken moan, painting white stripes across your skin."I'm sorry," he stammers immediately, mortified at the mess he's made. But you just shake your head, reaching for some wipes from your nightstand."Stop apologizing," you murmur, but before you can clean yourself, he's already grabbing the wipes from your hand."Let me," he insists softly, carefully wiping his traces from your skin with reverent attention. Once you're clean, he can't help himself—he leans down to press soft kisses against your breasts again. And again. And then he's back to sucking and kissing your nipples because how could he not? The content hum you make only encourages him further.But then you're tugging gently at his hair, making him look up at you. "You can start kissing your way down," you tell him, and his face flushes crimson even as his cock twitches with renewed interest.
Yes. Fuck yes. Thank you god and jesus and buddha and whoever else is listening.
He starts trailing kisses down your stomach, each press of his lips deliberate and worshipful. When he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, moving to kneel between your thighs at the foot of the bed. His hands shake as he hooks his fingers in the waistband, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.Then you spread your legs, and holy fuck. The sight of your pussy—bare and glistening and so fucking perfect—draws a deep groan from his chest. You're so wet, so ready for his tongue, and he's pretty sure he's actually died and gone to heaven."Fuck," he breathes, staring at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Because you are. You absolutely are.Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, and his breath catches when he sees you propped up on your elbows, watching him with a soft, almost amused look. Your fingers slide into his messy hair, carding through it gently, and his heart stutters in his chest. He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks, “Can I…?”You nod, your lips curving into a small smile. “Yes.”Okay. Okay. He can do this. He just has to remember what Taehyung and Jimin told him—don’t overthink it, listen to her cues, focus on what she likes—but oh god, he really doesn’t need to think about Taehyung and Jimin right now. What the fuck, brain? Not helpful.He shakes his head quickly, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts as he refocuses on you—glistening and beautiful and so fucking damp it makes his heart race. He did that. He got you like that. The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through him, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.“Start slow,” you murmur softly, your fingers still threading through his hair. “Use your tongue first. Just… explore.”He nods eagerly, leaning in closer until he can feel the heat radiating off you. His tongue flicks out tentatively, tracing a slow line up your folds, and the quiet sigh you let out makes him shiver.“Good,” you hum encouragingly, and he nearly preens at the praise. “Now try circling around my clit—gently.”He follows your instructions immediately, his tongue moving in slow circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your hips shift slightly in response sends a thrill through him, and he presses in just a little harder.“Not too much pressure,” you warn gently, your hand tightening slightly in his hair to guide him. “Keep it soft for now.”“Okay,” he mumbles against you, adjusting his movements until your soft hum of approval tells him he’s doing it right.“Now try flicking your tongue,” you instruct softly. “Just there—yes, like that.”The sound you make when he obeys is enough to make him moan into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support as he loses himself in the taste of you. Each little noise of pleasure that escapes your lips feels like a reward, spurring him on as he tries to remember everything you’re teaching him.“Good boy,” you murmur again, and fuck—he’s pretty sure he could cum just from hearing those words alone.Jungkook’s tongue moves with trembling focus, every flick and stroke guided by your soft instructions. The taste of you is overwhelming—sweet and musky and perfect—and he can’t get enough. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps at you, and the way your thighs tighten around his head makes him dizzy with pride.“Slower,” you breathe, your fingers tightening in his hair. He obeys immediately, easing the pressure as he circles your clit with featherlight strokes. The whimper you let out sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock, which is already leaking against his thigh again. God, he’s so fucking sensitive right now.“Use your fingers,” you murmur, your voice strained. “Just one… inside me. Slowly.”His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, his lips glistening. He’s shaking so badly he can barely coordinate his hands, but he manages to press a single finger against your entrance, sliding it in with painstaking care. The way you clench around him makes his head spin.“Good,” you gasp, hips lifting off the bed. “Now curl it—there—”He obeys, crooking his finger upward, and the choked moan you release is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. His cock throbs, but he ignores it, too focused on watching your face—the way your brows knit together, the way your lips part as you pant.“Add another,” you say, your nails scraping gently against his scalp.He slides a second finger in, marveling at how you stretch around him, how impossibly hot you feel. Your hips grind down against his hand, and he scrambles to keep up, curling and scissoring his fingers the way Jimin had described during their mortifying “lesson.”“Fuck—Jungkook—” Your voice cracks, and he looks up to see your back arching off the bed, your free hand fisting the sheets. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”He doesn’t. Couldn’t if he tried. Not when you’re falling apart above him, your thighs trembling as he works you closer. Your clit is swollen under his tongue, and he flicks it faster, matching the rhythm of his fingers.“I’m close,” you warn, your voice pitching higher. “Keep going, just like that—”He moans against you, the vibration making you cry out. Your hips stutter, and then you’re clenching around his fingers so tightly he can barely move them. The sound you make—a raw, unfiltered gasp—echoes in his bones as you shudder through your release.He keeps licking, keeps fingering you through it until your hand yanks his hair back gently.“Enough, baby,” you pant, chest heaving. “You’ll overstimulate me.”He pulls back immediately, fingers slipping free as he stares up at you in awe. Your skin is flushed, your hair fanned out around you like a halo, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.“Come here,” you murmur, patting the bed beside you.He scrambles up, still trembling, his sweats clinging to his hips. You reach for him the moment he’s within reach, pulling him into a searing kiss that tastes like you. His hips jerk forward instinctively, his cock grinding against your thigh, and he breaks the kiss with a whine.“Shh,” you soothe, your hand sliding down to palm him through his sweats. “You did so well. Let noona take care of you now.”He nods frantically, his breath hitching as you tug his sweats down. Your hand wraps around him, and he nearly sobs at the contact.“Look at me,” you command softly, and his teary eyes snap to yours. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”It takes three strokes. Three strokes and the way you’re looking at him—proud, affectionate, hungry—and he’s coming with a broken cry, stripes of white painting your stomach.He collapses against you, boneless and spent, his face buried in your neck as you stroke his hair.“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So good for me.”He doesn’t have the energy to respond, but he nuzzles closer, his heart swelling so big it threatens to burst.Twenty minutes later, after cleaning you both up with trembling hands and bringing you water, he's curled around you in bed, his nose buried in your hair. His cock is already stirring against your thigh because apparently his body has absolutely no chill when it comes to you."Noona?" he whispers, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip."Hmm?"He swallows hard, gathering his courage. "I need to tell you something."You shift slightly to look at him, and his heart stutters at how soft your expression is. "What is it?""I'm..." He takes a shaky breath. "I'm Spider-Man."There's a pause, and then you... laugh? Not mockingly—just this warm, gentle sound that makes his chest tight."I know," you say simply, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.His eyes widen comically. "You—what? How long have you—?""Jungkook-ah," you interrupt softly, "you pulled me away from a bus from five meters away. And you're literally always wherever I am. And you bring me the exact snacks I mention wanting, even when you weren't there when I said it.""Oh." He flushes, ducking his head. "Was I that obvious?""Extremely." Your fingers card through his hair, and he melts into the touch. "But it's cute that you finally told me."He peeks up at you through his lashes. "You're not... mad?""That you're Spider-Man? No." You smile. "That you stalked me? Maybe a little.""I wasn't stalking!" he protests immediately. "I was... protecting!""Uh-huh." Your tone is teasing, and he pouts until you lean in to kiss him softly. "Sure you were."When you pull back, his expression has shifted to something more... heated. His cock twitches against your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow.“So… since you’re not mad…”“Yes?”“Can we… go again?”You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”“Yeah,” he blurts. “I’ve got—uh—stamina. Like, a lot. Super… stamina. From the… you know.” He gestures vaguely at nothing. “Spider… stuff.”You snort, clearly fighting a laugh. “Is that so?”“Yes!” He nods frantically, hands flailing as he tries to explain. “I can go for hours! Days! Well, not days, but—I mean, I could eat you out again right now if you let me. Please? You don’t even have to touch me! I’ll just—I’ll jerk off while I do it. I can cum three or four more times, easy. Maybe five? Let’s try five.”You stare at him.He wilts slightly. “Or… two? Two’s good. Two’s cool.”“Jungkook.”“Yes?”“Come here.”He scrambles up immediately, eyes bright and hopeful. You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his pouty bottom lip. “You want to taste me that badly?”He nods so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t give himself whiplash. “Please.”“Okay,” you say, flopping back onto the pillows. “But slowly this time. I’m not a superhero.”He’s already scrambling down the bed, eyes gleaming. “Yes. Yes, okay, slowly. Got it. Thank you. Thank you.”You snort as his lips find your inner thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”“Ridiculously grateful,” he mumbles against your skin, and the vibration makes you laugh again.Not done, he thinks, and this time, he’s grinning.